


Perfect

by silkmoth



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-10
Updated: 2011-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-14 15:31:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkmoth/pseuds/silkmoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin is ill. Arthur is grumpy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect

**Perfect**

Arthur sighed and dropped his head on the mantle. He was tired, tired, tired. And angry. And tired. And _very_ angry. Not that it mattered. He couldn’t even rant about what he was angry about. He couldn’t bitch at Merlin about it, not really, since he was angry because of Merlin. He also couldn’t talk with his father about it –as if he ever could, but anyway- because that would mean Merlin losing his head. He _could_ yell at Gaius, because that old geezer had to know about this shit, but he would have to wait to do it since Gaius wasn’t in Camelot right now.

He sighed and thumped his forehead on the cold stone for a second time. To add insult to injury, Merlin had become ill this morning. Arthur had wanted to drag the little twit out of the bed early today –no reason to be lazy even when one’s master discovered one can do magic- only to look into a very bedraggled and fever flushed face. He had backed off quickly, thrown a “Come back to work when you’re feeling better!” over his shoulder and left; he had things to do, after all.

And now… now he was standing in his chambers, in the dead of night, tired to the bone and cold all over. No one had been here to start a fire, and in winter it got very cold very fast, even in the royal chambers. But instead of lighting one on his own and he could do that, no problem, Arthur was thinking about how cold it had to be in Merlin’s room right now. His manservant might be a sorcerer but Arthur knew Merlin had no survival skills at all. None. Which he had proven yesterday when he had read a suspicious looking book in the armory, while Arthur’s sword was polishing itself in the air. He hadn’t even noticed Arthur standing there, not until he had cleared his throat. And now Arthur was missing his favorite sword, because when Merlin had jumped up at the noise, the sword had flown out of the window and landed somewhere - probably in the sea, as far Arthur could tell. He hadn’t been able to find it.

Arthur straightened up slowly. He would light a fire and then he would go to bed. Just as simple. Merlin wasn’t a baby, he could care… _bloody hell!_ He stomped out of his chambers, banging the door shut behind him.

***

In the first moment, Arthur thought Merlin wasn’t there. He had walked across the laboratory, candlestick in hand, had taken the few steps to Merlin’s room and looked into it, only to see an empty bed. Suddenly scared, he had looked around and finally heard a weird noise coming from the room behind him. There he had found him, sitting on Gaius’ bed in front of the cold fireplace, wrapped into what looked like at least five blankets, teeth chattering. Arthur shook his head.

“Why haven’t you started a fire, you moron?”

“Couldn’t find…” –coughing- “… the flint stone.”

“As if you couldn’t light a fire in _another way_ ,” Arthur growled, though his heart wasn’t in it. Even in the candlelight, Merlin looked horrible.

“Doesn’t work,” his manservant answered, sniffling.

“What, you get a cold and your… _magic_ goes away?”

“No, I think it’s the headache… I can’t remember the…”

“Spell?”

Merlin looked up at him, miserably. “Yeah.”

Arthur was torn. He would love to start ranting, no matter the mentioned headache. Hell, Merlin _deserved_ to be yelled at; after all, he had managed to get out of it yesterday. While Arthur had still been staring at the broken window and after his sword, the weasel had wriggled out of the armory and when Arthur had been done staring, Merlin had been nowhere to find. _Probably spent half of the night in the woods and got himself this cold_ , Arthur thought unfriendly. Anyway, he couldn’t bring himself to yell at the other man. Arthur sighed.

“Get up and come with me.”

Merlin jerked his head up, in his eyes open fear. _That_ set Arthur off.

“WHAT? You think I’ll drag you to the next stake? Are you daft?”

Merlin continued to stare at him.

Arthur sighed _again_. He was still tired and angry, and it didn’t help at all that Merlin obviously had lost what was left of his brain.

“Merlin… get up! You’re coming with me to my chambers; there we’ll have at least a chance to get warm again. Come on!”

Merlin tried to, Arthur had to give him that. It would have been great, though, if he had first freed himself from the blankets. Arthur caught the human bundle in the last moment, put it back on its feet and started to unwrap it. Feeling the heat coming from Merlin, Arthur frowned, worried again.

“Where does Gaius have his potion against fever?”

Merlin, swaying slightly, started to point to somewhere and managed to knock the candlestick out of Arthur’s hand. Standing in the sudden darkness, hand still on Merlin’s arm, Arthur told himself he should be happy nothing went up in flames.

“Sorry.”

 _Yeah_. Merlin would be the perfect example to show his father that being able to do magic wasn’t something to be scared of. The guy was a complete moron.

“Sit!”

Arthur turned around, made two steps, hit his shin on a table or chair or whatever – _and wasn’t that something that happened far too often in Merlin’s company?_ \- and stumbled through the pitch black room towards the door, swearing under his breath. After he got one of the torches from the hall he went back into the laboratory, stood way out of Merlin’s reach and asked again for the medicine. Grabbing the brown flask from one of the higher shelves, Arthur beckoned to Merlin.

“Would you please come with me now?”

Merlin stood, swayed and almost went down, catching himself on Gaius’ table.

“I’m not sure if I can manage stairs, Ar…”

“Don’t even think about it!”

***

While he was dropping Merlin onto his bed, Arthur pondered about how long it would take until it was all over the castle that the Crown Prince had just carried his manservant into the royal chambers. Remembering the looks he had gotten from the guards, Arthur thought, _One hour, tops._

“At least my father will be glad I can’t knock you up,” Arthur murmured.

“What?”

“ _Nothing_!”

Lightning a fire was easy, as was yelling at the guards for some water and then yelling some more because they only brought a bucket with water but no jug. Getting Merlin out of his sweat soaked clothes was bloody difficult, though.

“Would you hold still?”

“I can undress myself!”

“Then _do it_!”

After watching Merlin struggle with his tunic for a few moments, Arthur became impatient again and ripped it off, followed by the truly disgusting scarf.

“Ow!”

“So very sorry!”

Arthur gave Merlin a shove to deal with his boots and pants. Having managed that, he threw a night gown he despised at his manservant.

“Put this on. And for the sake of the Gods, get under the blankets, it’s still freezing in here!”

The prince marched over to the table and put five drops of the medicine into a cup with water. Inwardly, he prayed that Merlin had remembered the right dose. Turning back to the bed, he almost dropped the cup.

“What the hell are you doing? Back to bed, now!”

The moron, who stood by the bed in the white night gown that went down to his knees, trying to get his boots on again, shook his head.

“I can’t sleep here.”

Arthur looked at the ceiling for a minute. Why, oh why hadn’t he just gone to bed an hour ago? Sighing, he went over to his manservant, shoved him back on the bed again and ordered, “Drink this!” Watching Merlin like a hawk while he was drinking, Arthur took the cup the moment it was empty, stashed it away and kneeled down to get the one boot off Merlin had actually managed to get on. Then he kind of heaved his protesting manservant completely on the bed and threw two fur blankets over him.

“Look, Arthur… I can’t sleep here!”

“Why?”

Merlin glanced at Arthur, looking like he was thinking which Arthur knew was impossible.

“I’m not sure if I should tell you.”

“Oh, please, do tell me. What is it? Is the mattress too hard for you? Who are you, Merlin? A princess?”

“Don’t I wish,” Merlin mumbled.

Arthur couldn’t help it, he felt a huge grin tugging at his lips. This was even better than talking to a drunken Merlin; Arthur could sense some seriously great blackmail material coming.

“You want to be a princess?”

Merlin still watched him, looking suddenly sad.

“Yeah. With smaller ears.”

Arthur had already opened his mouth when his brain finally caught up with what Merlin was _really_ saying.

“Huh. I’m glad you aren’t one; I despise princesses.”

Merlin only shrugged, looking down at his hands.

“Go to sleep, Merlin. Things won’t be so bad tomorrow, I promise. Just sleep.”

As Merlin laid back, Arthur wetted a small towel with water from the bucket. As he straightened up again to lay it on Merlin’s forehead, he heard the other man ask, “Will you tell your father?”

The towel hit Merlin’s head with far more force than necessary.

“What? That you want to be a princess? I would make a bet that my father doesn’t want to know this!”

“Arthur!”

“Merlin!”

“You know exactly what I meant!”

“Merlin, you think you would be here if I’d plan to tell my father _anything_? Go to sleep and stop worrying.”

When Merlin finally did exactly that, Arthur shifted around a bit so he could lean back on a bedpost without having to stop cooling Merlin’s face. The prince looked down at the dark-haired man lying in his bed, shaking his head. He had wondered a few times about what destiny had in store for him, love-wise. Arthur had never thought it would be someone like this. It made perfect sense, though. Not a princess, not a maid, a warlock. A Warlock for the Crown Prince of Camelot. He huffed quietly. Absolutely perfect.

  
The End.

  
 _  
~ It's choice - not chance - that determines your destiny. ~_  
Jean Nidetch


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